“Age is not the problem here, Paula. I suspect it has more to do with ethics and ethos than age.”
“Oh, do you? You mean sexual ethics, Ms. Highfalutin? Forgive me for being ignorant and old fashioned, but what precisely are the sexual ethics governing a ménage a–”
“Have a nice day, Paula. Keep nagging like this and you’ll get my resignation, too. Only I’ll be certain to put it in writing so there won’t be any room for doubt.”
That was how she was keeping Paula at bay these days, preventing the gale storm of I-told-you-sos from blowing in with her own threats to quit.
Lydia was as disenchanted with work as ever, more so now that Venus was no longer there, and she couldn’t condemn her former assistant from getting out when she did, while she was still young and stress-free and before gin martinis became the main staple of her diet. She was brave to do it. Soloman-Schmitt was a snake pit.
But if the rest of life was to be spent chasing after Helaine on some foreign shore, playing air tag with her and howdy stranger in hotel rooms, what on earth would she do with herself without work? Sit around all day waiting for her phone call?
Lydia had no intention of making good on her threats to retire. At least not anytime soon. But she didn’t want Paula to know this.
_____
Is you is or is you ain’t my baby…Venus was blasting old jazz. Chillin’.
Paula was on her way over. She stopped at the corner stakeout to interrogate the rumpled fellow in the silly trench coat. “Are you my man?” she asked.
“Um…who are you?”
“Who–Treadwell!”
He scratched his head and pointed across the street. “That guy over there, I think.”
“Wha–then who are you?”
“Look lady–”
“Don’t lady me! I’m no lady. You’re tailing Ms. Angelo?”
“Um…yes, ma’am.”
“For whom?”
He kicked at an invisible object on the sidewalk and cursed under his breath. “Goodman.”
“Goodman? Get out of here or I’ll have you arrested.”
“But–”
“Scram, I said!”
He scrammed.
Across the street, the man in the alley was not hers either, though the quarry was the same.
“Your guy’s in the diner.”
“Mine is? What the hell’s going on here?” Paula demanded. “Who are you working for?”
“Can’t say. You’ll find your guy in the diner, though. I saw him there at lunch time and he hasn’t come out since.”
Paula produced her cell phone. “At the count of three I’m going to dial 911 if I don’t get some answers here. One…two…”
“Chambers–I work for Chambers.”
“Sharon Chambers?”
He nodded.
She was taken aback by the implications. “Not anymore you don’t–capice?”
“Capice.”
She found her guy in the diner all right, double fisting coffee and donuts. “I’m Treadwell,” she informed him with disgust. “You work for me?”
“Yeah,” he said, wiping jelly from the side of his face. “Yeah.”
“Good…you’re fired.”
He snickered and gulped his coffee. “Okey-doke.”
Paula spun on her heel. “Bill me,” she called over her shoulder.
He snickered again. “Okey-doke.”
Okey-doke, up at Fort Angelo’s Venus was running low on supplies and was just thinking of sending out the wagon trains when she got a buzz from the lobby.
“Paula Treadwell, Ms. Angelo. Should I send her up?”
“Oh–you know I–oh god, I–yeah, send her up.” A decision she regretted the instant she made it.
“Well, well, well…and how is Venus Angelo? Citizen Angelo?”
“I’m sorry, Paula, but you should have seen it coming.”
“Of course, of course…look, I’ve emptied the vacant lots and darkened alleyways…no one’s following you anymore and I can assure–”
“Too little, too late. It’s over with, Paula.” Paula was wearing chartreuse today…it don’t mean a thing if it ain’t got that…chartreuse and burgundy…doo wah doo wah…doo wah doo wah…with matching two-tone shoes and snazzy eyeglass frames, a nifty neon carnation. “I’ve made up my mind,” Venus said, feeling her mouth go sour. “It’s too late.”
Paula took this in stride. “Good,” she said, making herself at home in a leather sofa-chair. “And now what does brilliant Venus Angelo plan to do with herself? Chase windmills for a living? Any money in that, Venus? Chasing windmills?”
“Some.”
“Some…and that will pay for all this? For those clothes you’re wearing? You’ve got a nice place here, Venus. Chasing Lydia Beaumont didn’t hurt you any if you got all this to show for it. Even if–you catch my drift?”
“This isn’t about Lydia Beaumont.”
“Bullshit.”
Venus sat opposite her on the couch, legs crossed, arms folded. Silent.
“Anyway. Ackerly says–”
“I don’t care what Ackerly says.”
Paula eyed her thoughtfully. “Do I get to know your plans or is this something I have to wait to read about?”
“Full-time directorship of the Kristenson Foundation. Money’s not too bad for a charity and the tour’s–”
“I don’t want to hear about Dr. Kristenson and don’t tell me it’s not about Dr. Kristenson and don’t tell me it’s not about Lydia Beaumont. Don’t you think, if it’s distance you need, that you’re not going far enough away? Why don’t you go somewhere where she can’t find you?”
“Paula–”
“We can send you anywhere you want to go. Hong Kong. Bangkok. Paris.”
“Paris? What are you saying?”
“Soloman-Schmitt is prepared to send you anywhere you want to go. That’s how important you are to us.”
Venus shut her eyes.
“Don’t blow it, Angelo. Pick a place. We can send your family with you, too. The whole shebang.”
Her family in Paris! Venus couldn’t even imagine that.
Chapter 52
Fortune In the Affairs of Women and How It May Be Opposed
Five o’clock and THANK-GOD-IT’S-FRIDAY. Zillions of girls and boys and women and men have ceased to be productive. They’re chucking their pencils, kicking up their heels and letting their hair down again.
Friday’s going to be a very big day for the Beaumonts. And for the Beaumont-Kristenson’s. For Team Kristenson. For Venus Angelo. For Paula Treadwell. Delilah Lewiston. And for many other beings just like them, unwittingly sucked into the vortex of fortune and happenstance.
Marilyn Beaumont began what would be a long Friday at the side of the road in a car that just wouldn’t go, stranded there while Roy tried to determine what was wrong with it. He didn’t have much time for tinkering–Marilyn had a flight to catch because her John Hancock was required on the amicable settlement she had reached with her soon-to-be-former husband and, to those ends, they would be rendezvousing this afternoon at Stanley Kandinsky’s office in the city, at which time she would relinquish Edward’s ring.
Marilyn, like her daughter, did not care for airplanes, but she had waited an eternity for this day and was eager to get the darn thing over with. Driving there or flying there was only the difference of a few hours, but that had seemed a lifetime to her, so she had, weeks ago, bravely made up her mind to fly into the city and it was now too late in the morning to change those plans.
Missing the plane was completely out of the question. She would not miss that plane. She sat in the passenger seat of her sedan with her hands folded and her face expectant, counting on the man who was jiggling the wires under her hood. She had the right of reliance here. He had already proven he could fix anything.
One…two…three…vrrrrrroooom!
Paula’s day began, as usual, well before she arrived to work. Juggling two cells and a land line wh
ile devouring a power breakfast, she was in typical form for her Friday, which ran from this point disturbingly smooth into the evening.
Venus was still a loose end that needed tying up and Paula was eager to settle this business. The kid was set to return from her apartment search in Paris sometime today and she had promised to call by week’s end with a decision. A very final decision, because if Paula could clinch the deal, she intended to bind Venus up with Soloman-Schmitt in a ten-year contract. Venus Angelo would be her successor since JP Beaumont would retire someday soon, sit out the rest of her days on a yacht somewhere counting clouds and stars and moonbeams with her blond, so why kick that dead horse around anymore? God, what a waste of an MBA! What a rip-off! What a horrible disgrace to the profession!
But anyway, enough of that. “Okey-doke,” she heard herself say as she kissed Dickie on the cheek before rushing out to the chopper. “Wish me luck.”
“Luck,” he said cheerfully. “Luck, luck, luck, luck, luck.”
Speaking of luck and Lydia Beaumont, she was just that moment getting lucky again in Honolulu, in one big finale that would wrap up three days and nights of uninterrupted island ecstasy. The couple was, at last, together on native soil, albeit only briefly.
Friday afternoon Lydia would be flying home and Helaine would have to quit sunny Hawaii to hurry on toward Melbourne for a one-week stint in Australia. Carlos was pushing hard for today’s departure because he was trying to keep everyone from completely succumbing to the jet lag that had descended on the team back in Montreal. Sun, surf and pineapples was having a therapeutic effect on everyone, he was happy to see, but another day of inactivity and he might end up with nothing but a bunch of lotus-eaters on his hands. Lotus-eaters in grass skirts and leis–ye gods!
He was already dispensing with the last minute flight details by the time Helaine and Lydia rolled out of bed and scantily dressed themselves for breakfast.
Helaine had never been to Australia and she was curious. Curious about kangaroos and koalas and crocodiles, about a continent that produced strong, silent types like Chuck the bodyguard.
Chuck and Antonio and two staffers were flying to Melbourne ahead of everyone, the bodyguards to scope out the terrain and make preparations in advance for managing the crowd scene, the other two to get her situated at the hotel and assist them in designing her transit route from the airport, per request of certain government officials who had the last minute jitters from watching too much television.
She was in good hands, Carlos assured her. She believed that.
Lydia was aware of her parents’ plans today. She was relieved, she had told Helaine last night. Relief was, however, just one of the items she had in her mixed bag of emotions regarding the divorce so she seemed preoccupied today, as she was wont to be about such things, and a bit dazed which gave her that aloof air she had become so famous for.
Helaine hand-fed her breakfast with an understanding smile and, to prevent herself from taking Ms. Beaumont’s mood too personally, occupied herself instead with admiring the woman’s physique, about which she could never find any room for improvement.
It was pointless to even undertake discussing the divorce. The doctor asked her mate instead if she could taste the difference between fresh pineapples and store-bought–yes–if she planned on wearing the linen suit for the flight back–yes–and if she enjoyed herself last night even though they didn’t attend the luau with the rest of the team–you betcha.
Monosyllabic conversation aside, Lydia was being a good sport and supportive daughter to her parents and Dr. Kristenson respected her for it. She could not say for certain how she would herself have reacted if her own parents’ marriage had dissolved like this one. But then, since they were long dead, it was nothing she had to trouble herself to imagine.
Since they were long dead–she had dreamt of them again, she suddenly recalled.
“What’s wrong?” Lydia asked, retrieving a slice of pineapple from her lap and popping it into her mouth. “What are you thinking of?”
“I–it was–I can’t remember actually.”
Actually she was lying.
“It’s the last leg, Lana. We’re almost through this now.”
“I know,” she replied, shaking the image of her father’s weathered hand reaching out for hers. “Get up,” she had heard him ordering in the dream last night. “Hurry, child,” he had urged her.
She rose without a word and placed the breakfast tray in its stand beside the door. “We had better hurry now, darling. Carlos is playing the evil taskmaster today and I hear tell he wants us all up-and-at-’em by ten or else.”
“Or else what?”
“Or else no Australia.”
Or else no Aruba for Delilah Lewiston if she didn’t get it together by ten as well, and then that would be a very disappointing start to the first real vacation she had taken in years.
No phobias here, flying was a cinch for Delilah. She boarded planes intoxicated, drank like a fish in the air, and landed walking like a sailor. Martinis straight up. The only safe way to fly.
Everything was in capable hands, she assured herself this morning, donning a tranquil expression and a summery dress, both of which she would be hiding beneath her winter persona. The bank, the apartment, her mother–taken care of. That left nothing else to do but enjoy herself. Enjoy the sun, the sand and the surf for ten days on end. And get laid for nine nights in a row. Ahhhhhhh.
_____
“I now pronounce you man and woman,” Stanley said, without a trace of sarcasm.
Marilyn looked as if she might cry as she took off her wedding ring and handed it over to Edward. “Edward, I–”
“Now, now…it’s…as you were, Marilyn Sanders. I had a–” his voice cracked, “a lovely time.”
That did it. She was weeping, clutching both Edward’s and Stanley’s handkerchiefs and groping her way toward the door.
Edward remained seated, counting the certificates hanging on the wall as Stanley escorted the former Mrs. Beaumont into the hall. “Have a safe trip,” he heard his attorney console her. Competent Stan with all those awards. Earning his keep.
“Oh, Stan…Stan.”
“Everything’s going to be all right, Marilyn. Everything’s fine,” he heard Stan say. “It’s okay.”
Marilyn’s ring had worn thin, Edward observed. Thin enough to break with his bare hands it seemed.
“I know,” blubbered his ex-wife. “I know.”
He put it in his breast pocket where his handkerchief used to be.
“Goodbye, Edward,” Marilyn called to him.
He could feel her waiting for his response. He wanted to rush to the door. He sat instead, unable to bring himself to face her. “God speed, Marilyn,” he said to the walls.
_____
“Everything’s going to be all right, Edward. I’m proud of you.”
“I caught you at a bad time, Queenie?”
“I’m at the airport. Got to board soon.”
“Don’t let me make you miss your plane then. We’ll talk later?”
“We’ll talk tonight. Everything’s going to…is fine. I love you, Daddy.”
_____
“Everything turn out all right?”
“Everything’s fine, Roy. I…I’m just…it’s heartbreaking that’s all.”
“Marilyn, I wouldn’t want you if you enjoyed it.”
“I’m…I’ll be boarding soon, Mr. Mann. I can see the airplane from here.”
“I’ll let you go, love. Keep the phone charged. I’ll be waiting for you at the airport.”
_____
“Where are you now?”
“De Gaulle, boarding my plane. You got other plans, Mr. Jones?”
“Venus, I said I’d pick you up weeks ago. I been waiting forever for you to call.”
“Oh, shit, Sebastion. I was busy…I’m sorry.”
“Sorry’s cool. Straighten up and fly right, girlfriend. When’s your plane come in?”
____
_
“Aloha, darling.”
“Aloha. Where are you right now?”
“The limo. The plane’s standing by.”
“Oh, wow. We’ll be departing around the same time.”
“Uh-oh, here’s Commandant Carlos. I better hang up. I love you, Lydia Beaumont-Kristenson.”
_____
“You called me about rice? Eat the rice, Ma. It’s good for you.”
“I ordered lobster and they bring me rice. Are you going to call me from Aruba?”
“If I can find a phone.”
“Delilah Louise!”
“I’ll give you a ring from the hotel. I got to go, Ma, or I’ll miss my plane.”
_____
“You made a decision yet?”
“Paula, I’m boarding here.”
“I’ll send a car for you when you arr–”
“Sebastion’s picking me up.”
“Sebastion? You sure know how to live, Angelo. I’ll give you that much. You know how to live.”
_____
“Why it’s Dame Beaumont…you get a lei, Liddy? I’m boarding.”
“Me too. Just wanted to wish you bon voyage.”
“Bon voyage. See you in ten.”
“Should I even ask what you’ve got planned for yourself?”
“Nah, just buy the book!”
_____
“So where are you as we speak?”
“On the plane. Send my love to Robert.”
“I will. E-mail us when you get to Melbourne. Where will you be staying?”
“Oh, it’s so secret, Kay. Even I don’t know.”
_____
“Sweetheart, have you boarded yet? I’m just about to.”
“Mom–almost–I was hoping you would call.”
“Have you heard from your father?”
“Yes. How are you doing? Are you okay? I’ll be at the lake house this weekend…?”
“Oh, how thoughtful, Lydia. We’ll talk at the lake house this weekend. Have a safe trip, sweetheart.”
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